While I await the servants with water, since that sticky substance has begun to cling to my face, I close my eyes, recalling certain episodes of my life.
Remembering has become the significant torment that keeps me from sleeping at night.
My nights are prolonged, and nothing I do allows me to sleep completely through.
And the drink accompanies the clouded thoughts that trouble me as the sun begins to set, continuously, night after night.
Ruthlessly and ferociously.
We had a good life here at Sweet Mill.
Our farm was flourishing and my parents loved each other. My brother and I lived harmoniously with the affection we received from them both.
Despite our status as distinct sons, there was no difference.
In my teenage years, I was an outgoing boy, mostly due to this appearance of mine that drew so much attention. Everywhere I went, I received admiring feminine gazes and yearning from them.
Young girls and even older women. Even children looked up to me.
My brother, the more studious one, was shy and reserved. And he had few friends. While I had attention and was never alone. In school, I was popular, while he lingered in my shadow. This meant that I always won over the most beautiful girls, even the most demure ones fell for my charm.
Time went by and the story repeated itself.
Everything started to change when our mother died from a disease of that era. Flu. She was pregnant and both perished.
It was an extremely harsh blow for all of us.
And my father, in a way, left our fate to chance. The mourning was prolonged, overly so, and after that, he began that dissolute life, as it seems to be in the blood or the family customs... And in his lust, he always preferred the younger ones, always. This is why I am not surprised that he married this pupil of his.
Stunning enough to hurt the eyes. Yet as irritating as a doe in heat.
He would bring them home and as we were already adults, what always happens with these younger women would take place.
They seek the stability of the older men and the pleasure that the younger ones can provide.
Since Benedict was never much inclined to these practices, it more often fell to me, and this enraged my father.
The younger and more attractive son. Stealing his little girls.
Over time he came to his senses, and I was addicted to them.
The hidden beauties behind the long dresses of these divine creatures. And what they harbor between their legs...
That's when I met Luise. Different from all the others I had been with. Delicate and innocent. I fell in love immediately. With her, I settled down, as Maria would say.
With her, I wanted to start a family.
I was already 23, at the right age for it, and she at 18 also wanted the same as I. But she was a divided young woman. Or became so after some time.
I am the son of a wealthy farmer, and the other, he was just a sailor on the Brazilian merchant routes. She met him through me when I went to enlist in the army, while he joined the navy; we became friends, but our paths diverged.
When he came to visit his family and she met him, her eyes sparkled. Far more than for me, I must admit it pained me to realize this.
But the guy had no means to provide her a decent life, hence her hesitation. I could offer her the sky, a life of more than comfort, and with him, a simple life from city to city where his ship lay anchored. Which lasted 3 or 4 months on the same route. And she had to choose.
She chose me, under family pressure, as women of today don't have much of a choice.
The family always opts for the safest bet. And another obstacle was the dowry. The sailor's family would never be able to pay it, it was exorbitant and impossible for a family without means.
And then our families set the wedding date. I was to spend one more year in the army and then request a discharge, and we would marry.
All arranged. That was until that rainy afternoon as we were monitoring the borders with Paraguay, I received that letter from my brother. I didn't even ask permission from my superiors to return at once. I rode for days until I reached the city and only then to confirm what the letter elaborated in rich detail.
They had married behind my back.
I arrived home completely devastated. Dirty from the ride and destroyed by the betrayal.
My father awaited me at the top of the stairs, and I saw that half-smile he always wore when he felt victorious.
"Home already, son?" he asked with scorn. Approaching him, I looked into his eyes, and what I saw killed me even more. He had never wanted this marriage because she, Luise, had been his pick. She was wealthy, young, her father well-regarded at court, a count, and he wanted a title for the family. But when I won her over, he couldn't bear it. And later, I would learn that he provided my treacherous friend with the dowry for the wedding.
I guess this motivation sent me back to the army in a desperate attempt to be the best I could. I needed to channel my pain.
But with every effort, I only made things worse. Until, in a very undisciplined act where I struck my superior when he mentioned my misfortune, I was discharged.
Then they sent me home, out of respect for my father—I wasn't imprisoned, but I live in a prison. I am barred from appearing at court or high society parties, and sometimes even in public places without military escort. Thus, I prefer confining myself to this farm. And he knows I can't leave.
I've plunged into a world of luxury and pleasures with the most varied women. The only place where I go and am welcome is the brothel. That's where I spend most of my nights. In a frenzied attempt to find something to fill the deep aches that consume my soul.
This angers Mr. Otto immensely. For he still harbors hope that I will be the new Coffee Lord, or the future baron of coffee.
And that is not going to happen, firstly because I don't want it and secondly, because he does.
But even in the most heated moments of my nights, no matter who I am with, I still remember the look of contempt she threw my way when I sought her out for the last time.
Anger, resentment, vengeance, passion... these are my daily nourishments, my misguided motivation.
In them, I lose myself and in them, I try to find myself.
Or to find love again if it indeed exists.
Frederick arrives at the room.
"Sir, your bath."
He speaks to me three or four times before I rouse from my reverie.
And I remember why I needed that bath.
"Mrs. Montanese, you won't know what hit you."
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